


Variants

by LeFay_Strent



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Life is hard, but he also wants to help people, patton just wants a normal life, superhero au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-30 07:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17219393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeFay_Strent/pseuds/LeFay_Strent
Summary: Patton was surprised by the mutant robbing the jewelry store one night. It was a “right time, right place” circumstance for Patton in that he happened to be there to see them break into the store. And by break in, he meant that they seeped into shadows and appeared on the other side of the windows without breaking anything at all.





	1. Chapter 1

The world was a scary place. Human genetics even scarier. No matter how far science had come, it could neither stop nor fully understand how some people were predisposed to power. Most of them varied; one girl could hit her teens and discover a manipulation for plants, or a boy would be born with wings.

Mutants were the general term used for these . . . _variants_ of society. Some dissociated themselves from the rest of humanity, saw opportunity in their gifts, and took what they wanted just because they could. But for people like Patton who felt a sense of duty to stop the criminals that ordinary law enforcement couldn’t, they viewed themselves as heroes.          

Patton’s abilities weren’t obvious to the common observer. Not having many prospects for his future, he’d joined the military fresh out of high school. Surprisingly, he took to training like a fish to water. Physical courses did little to strain his stamina. Fighting techniques came as second nature and he studied and memorized a plethora of styles far too quickly. Firearms proved his strongest suit yet with his efficiency in accuracy, and he broke world records in sniping.          

He had never tested his limits before, and while his superior officers were only too glad to write him off as a natural combatant, Patton realized the difference. His senses were off the charts, and now that he was truly pushing himself and had others to compare to, Patton understood how genetics set humans apart.          

So Patton did his best not to overdo it and bring unwanted attention to himself. Sure there were government sanctioned factions that consisted of mutants who used their powers for good. They were a fairly new concept and controversial to say the least. In a sense, they were no different from other military personnel, except that they _were_. And everyone knew it too. No matter how much the good tried to balance the bad, mutants didn’t connote the most positive of stigma.          

And Patton didn’t want that. He just wanted to be regular old him without labels. He could breeze by with a military career, many of his superior officers having high hopes for him. But when it came down to finishing out his service time, he rejected proposals for promotions and asked to be discharged for regular civilian life. He could see it in their eyes, the disappointment when he decided to not carry out his boundless potential.          

Truth was, the pressure got to him. He didn’t want all the recognition or the inevitable discovery that he was a genetic variant. He wanted a regular job, a regular _life_.          

He tried too. He really did. But even after finishing his service and settling down with a regular security job at a nice hotel, something inside him mourned for his years spent in combat. He’d seen how far he could stretch himself, and like any other piece of clothing, he couldn’t return to his original shape.          

By being himself, accepting what he was . . . he could make a difference.          

That’s why he found himself moonlighting as a vigilante. Stop some crooks here and there, protect people in need, swoop in and slip out before anyone could notice.          

It worked. For a while.          

After quitting his military life and settling down in a city not too far from his hometown, Patton hadn’t looked that far into mutant activity here. He’d heard of a couple things in passing, caught a few segments on the news, but the truth was that this hadn’t been a hot spot for mutants. A couple baddies with low-grade powers, sure, but Patton had never run into them. They had been dealt with by law enforcement. But as far as any crime organization or hero association approved by the government? Not much there, as far as Patton was aware.          

That was why Patton was surprised by the mutant robbing the jewelry store one night. It was a “right time, right place” circumstance for Patton in that he happened to be there to see them break into the store. And by break in, he meant that they seeped into shadows and appeared on the other side of the windows without breaking anything at all. Patton was forced to sneak around the back of the store and pick the lock to get in himself. If his entrance triggered any security system in the building, it didn’t matter much to him. He just needed to be quiet to get the jump on them.

Patton snuck towards the front and spied a dark figure moving around the room, leisurely picking through thousands of dollars’ worth of jewelry. It gave him a chance to get a good look at them. Even in the near dark with only security lights shining from outside the wide-paned windows, Patton’s eyes were sharper than most humans’. He noted their figure dressed primarily in black and their hair that looked as black as their clothes. It was difficult to discern the hair length, mixed as it was with all the sentient tendrils of shadows that seemed to thrive around them. Patton could only guess that the mutant emitted those naturally. Were the tendrils wispy like smoke though or actually tangible? Patton shivered, admittedly creeped out.          

While they were distracted, Patton approached from their unguarded back, a dozen techniques flitting through his mind to take them down in the least amount of effort and injury on both of their parts. But the thief must have sensed something awry because when Patton reached a few yards away from them, they spun and _growled_ at him.          

Patton reeled back on instinct. He’d faced combat many times, but no one had ever genuinely growled at him. The voice didn’t even sound human, distorted as it was. Living shadows obscured the top half of their face, leaving a sharp chin and snarling mouth exposed. They hunched in on themself, ready to spring into action, and for a moment Patton really took their figure in. Underneath their black and purple patched hoodie, they looked lean, scrawny even.          

It was wrong to steal, but no matter what Patton had seen in life, he tried to believe the best of people. Maybe this mutant was poor, homeless perhaps, and wanted to pawn off some stolen jewelry somewhere to get some money to get by? Or maybe they were being used? Someone could have found out they were a mutant and were blackmailing them into using their powers for crime. Patton had actually heard stories of that happening. They broke his heart every time.          

Patton held up his hands, putting on his best disarming smile. “Hey kiddo, sorry to sneak up on you like that. I just want to talk, okay?”          

Patton should have stayed put, but he inched a step closer.

They clutched the bag of pilfered jewelry closer to their chest and let their shadow tendrils snake out at terrifying speeds towards Patton. He dodged the first few, ducking and weaving and rolling out of the way, but the display cases made his space limited and there were just so many of the tendrils. One knocked into his stomach and sent him toppling over the counter with the cash register.          

Patton rolled his body as he hit the floor, going with the momentum in order to quickly stand. In that short span of time, the thief dove at the front windows and charged their body through them, allowing their tendrils to smash the glass before them. Patton sprinted out after them, jumping out the exit they provided and pulling out a concealed handgun in one movement. It was always, _always_ a last resort to shoot (and even then, he refused to kill), and he didn’t really need it here, but Patton had learned that people tended to stop and listen to him when he had a gun in hand. His shoes smacked the sidewalk and he fluidly slipped into an aiming position at the mutant’s retreating back.           

“Freeze or I’ll shoot!” Patton bluffed. The thief neither paused nor looked towards him, continuing to flee down the street. Patton whined in the back of his throat, “C’mon, that always works in movies.”  

Just as he prepared to chase after them, a wave of translucent, soft green light flew at the fleeing mutant. The mutant was barreled over and launched into the wall of the building parallel from the jewelry store. Rather than thump against the rough slab of brick, their body merely went through it, like there was suddenly a hole of darkness there. It disappeared after them and they reappeared on top of the awning above the store’s entrance. Inside of the jewelry shop, Patton thought the shadows had just been too thick to see their face, but now he could see a purposeful mask of shadows covered the top half. Their attention was aimed towards the direction the blast of light had come from.           

Patton turned to find an unassuming brunet man standing in the middle of the street. He wore jeans and a navy hoodie with a black shirt underneath. His fingers glowed that same soft, green light, as did his eyes. The more Patton watched, the colors danced between green and blue, mesmerizing.          

“Won’t you come down and actually fight?” the brunet man called to the shadowed figure.          

The thief remained crouched on the awning, silent and unyielding. A spiral of dark tendrils enveloped them and they were gone.          

“Coward,” the brunet muttered to himself. Patton could only overhear him thanks to his enhanced hearing.          

“Uh,” Patton began awkwardly, not having expected this. “I guess I should thank you?”          

The brunet glanced at him, the light in his fingers and eyes flickering out. Even without the glowy light, his blue eyes were eerie and piercing.          

“Nothing to thank me for,” he told Patton reasonably. “But we should leave before the cops arrive and question us.”          

Sure enough, Patton’s ears picked up the distant sound of sirens. The strange brunet man beckoned him to follow him down the road, turning before Patton had agreed. Patton gave the area one last glance before holstering his firearm and jogging after the other mutant.          

“You don’t think we should go after them?” Patton asked him, assuming the other guy had to be a vigilante like him.          

The guy gave him a funny look. “Go after the Reaper? When he’s gone, he’s gone. Nothing else we can do.”          

“Reaper?” Patton repeated. He stopped walking when they came to a small side alley road where a car was parked. The stranger strode purposefully towards the driver’s side, waving his hand at the passenger’s side for Patton to get in. Patton narrowed his eyes at the set up and asked, “Were you staking the place waiting for them?”          

The man opened the car door and said before slipping inside, “Reaper’s slippery, but he’s predictable. Now come along. We can talk as we go.”          

Getting into cars with strangers wasn’t the best idea, but Patton trusted his instincts. He hurried over and hopped into the car. The car door was hardly closed before his fellow mutant shifted the car into gear and took off. He was careful to not speed and make themselves obvious.           

“So, Reaper?” Patton asked.          

“You really don’t know?” he asked. He glanced at Patton, seeing something in his expression that convinced him that Patton really didn’t know anything about the thief. “Do you not live here?”          

“I do. I moved here a few months ago.” Patton tried not to sound like he was defensive. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t that in the loop of things.          

The guy just hummed and took a turn onto a main road with more traffic to blend in with. “My name’s Logan by the way. What may I call you?”          

Patton wondered if that was a false name or not. As things stood, it’d be smarter for Patton not to reveal his identity. And with the way Logan phrased his words, it didn’t sound like he really expected Patton to be upfront. That last bit was probably why Patton went with the truth.          

“I’m Patton. So, Reaper?”          

The corner of Logan’s mouth quirked up a bit. “You’re stubborn.”          

Patton didn’t reply, just waited for Logan to continue. Logan nodded to himself and went on.          

“He started showing up about half a year ago. He’s probably the most notorious mutant criminal our neck of the woods has gotten in a while. He doesn’t go on killing sprees, doesn’t go for the whole showy act that others do in places like New York. Doesn’t really do much of anything other than rob jewelry stores. He’s hit some other towns close to here, but he seems to spend most of his time here.”          

Patton frowned in thought. “Why just jewelry? With his powers, he could go bigger.”          

“That’s something I’ve yet to deduce.” Logan tapped on the steering wheel, eyes squinting thoughtfully. Patton wondered how invested Logan was in tracking down Reaper, if it was something more personal. “Cops have tried tracking down where he must be peddling it off for cash, but if he is, it isn’t around here, as far as anyone can tell. He’s probably working for someone else and delivering the goods to them.”          

“I see . . .” Patton said, disappointed that there wasn’t more known about the Reaper. He perked up though, realizing what Logan had implied. “So he might be working for someone else?”          

“It’s probable but not for certain.”          

“So do you think he might not be doing this because he wants to?”          

Logan frowned. “I do not understand. Explain further?”          

“Well you know how some people don’t want others to know they’re mutants? What if someone’s forcing him to do this or else they’ll spill his secret?”          

Logan’s fingers stopped their tapping. “Blackmail?” he muttered, more to himself. “I hadn’t . . . Though I suppose . . .”          

“Logan?” Patton encouraged.          

He shook himself from his musings. “Ah, yes. It hadn’t occurred to me as a possibility, yet I can’t deny that it is not impossible. There have been other incidents of similar circumstances, though it doesn’t necessarily mean that his status as a mutant is being used for leverage, if this is the case. It could be anything.”          

Logan caught Patton’s beaming smile. “That isn’t to say that this is truly the case for Reaper or that he is innocent. The reasons behind his motives do not absolve him of his actions, merely help us understand them.”          

“But still,” Patton protested, pouting. “Nothing’s black and white, not really."           

“Be that as it may, laws exist for a reason, as does consequences. Reaper must take responsibility for his own actions.” The words didn’t do much to inspire Patton. Logan must have noticed through a couple of glances from the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat, fixing a steadfast gaze on the road. “I do admit it is . . . commendable to not take things at face value. And your hypothesis has given me much to consider.”          

Patton’s lips twitched up. “Shucks Logan, you can just say ‘thank you’.”          

Logan cleared his throat, one hand leaving the steering wheel to touch below his throat (perhaps to fiddle at a necklace? though he wasn’t wearing one) before aborting the action and readjusting his glasses.          

“Thank you, Patton,” Logan told him, words far too careful to sound natural, but he was trying and that was the important part.          

They spent the rest of the drive discussing the Reaper some more. And really, what sort of name was that? Patton asked Logan and the man only gave an airy laugh.          

“It’s amazing what the media dubs some of us, isn’t it?” The way he said it, it was obvious that Logan included Patton in the ‘us’ category.          

Patton shook his head and gave a rueful smile. Before he could stop himself, the familiar lie rolled off his tongue. “I’m sorry, but I’m not actually a mutant. I served in the military though and I thought it should be my duty to intervene when I saw that person stealing.”          

“I suspected something of the sort for your background, however . . .” Logan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re saying you’re not a mutant?”          

“Nope,” Patton answered as cheerily as possible.           

“I see,” Logan said. Patton didn’t know how, but he knew without a doubt that Logan saw right through him. Part of Patton wanted to come clean, and who better with than a fellow mutant? And yet . . . 

Patton directed Logan to drop him off within walking distance of his neighborhood. Logan did so and they parted ways amicably, but it wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other. Over time, the city would expand, new dangerous mutants would move in, and government interference would occur. Despite how Patton tried to remain under the radar, he would be approached and asked to join an alliance of heroes stationed in that very city to combat the rising threats of criminal mutants. Reluctantly, Patton would agree, and joined by Logan and a few other friends made along the way, they would go on to be the city’s protectors.          

But for now, Patton was happy with his regular job and his regular way of living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been fiddling with this for weeks now. I don't think I'll ever be satisfied, so I'm just slapping it up here. I have a whole story planned out for this, but I'm hesitant to continue because I suck at keeping up with multi-chapter fics, so we'll see how that goes.


	2. Chapter 2

“Well this isn’t ideal,” Logan muttered to himself before ducking at another gunshot.

Yes he was being shot at. No this was not according to plan.

If he had the option, Logan would simply use his powers to shove the dumpster he hid behind down the alley and at the angry drug dealers currently shooting at him. There was just one problem.

He didn’t have his glasses.

Telekinesis was certainly a useful and powerful ability, when one could _see what and where to move things in the first place_.

“Wonderful,” Logan growled to himself. “My greatest weakness: the Velma complex. I should reconsider my thoughts on investing in contact lenses no matter how repulsive the idea is. Then again, it is perfectly suitable for one to be squeamish about foreign objects touching their eyeballs, but I digress. Contacts would not be able to be knocked off so easily from one’s face, and with them one would be able to see where to aim a dumpster at. But jinkies, I’ve lost my glasses. _And would you hoodlums stop shooting at me_! I am trying to rant, please and thank you.”

“Get out here mutant freak!” one of the shooters yelled from the mouth of the alley.

Logan’s eye twitched. “How polite of you.”

With no other options available and Logan’s patience snapped, he chunked the dumpster down the alley anyway. It would leave him exposed for more time than he was comfortable with, but hopefully his pursuers would be distracted long enough for him to run deeper into the alley system and lose them. Also, for lack of a better term, fuck it.

Logan sprinted at full speed, the sound of gunfire blasting into the night once more. Luckily, he rounded a corner without any bullets hitting him. Beyond the huffing of his breath he could hear the pounding of footsteps following behind.

Objectively, the situation was not good. Logan’s heart thrashed so erratically in his chest at the thought that he might just die here. Adrenaline worked overtime to keep him going, but the world had been reduced to a dark blur and his breaths hitched painfully sharp in his throat.

Logan rounded a corner, scrambling against the brick wall he nearly face-planted into. He picked up the pace when he saw that the end of this particular alley led to somewhere lighter, presumably a street. It’d be more out in the open, giving the gun-wielding criminals the advantage, but there was no going back now.

The yells and pounding steps behind him never stopped. The muscles in his legs burned and threatened to cripple him. Logan cursed himself for not practicing cardio more.

As he reached the mouth of the alley, Logan tripped on _something_ , and next his palms were skinning against the harsh surface of concrete to minimize the damage of his fall. On instinct, Logan rolled over onto his back, ready to use his powers on anything that so much as approached him.

But that’s the thing. Nothing happened.

Over the roaring in his ears and his ragged breathing, Logan squinted at the mass of shadows in the alley, unable to make out anything, sight or sound. There were no more yells, no more gun fire.

Any moment now, one of them would jump out to kill him. He couldn’t let his guard down. His body tensed, a live wire ready to spring into action. All of his senses screamed at him that any second now . . .

Any second . . .

Logan cautiously sat up, gaze never straying from the alley. He didn’t dare hope for a second that his pursuers suddenly lost interest and called off the chase. And the longer he sat there, the more he realized the possibility of a surprise attack from them was also unlikely, given their noisy chase. If anything, they would have ran out and shot him dead.

The fact that Logan wasn’t dead right now meant that something must have gotten to them first.

“Hello?” a voice called out from the alley.

Immediately Logan stiffened. His mind buzzed frantically from thought to thought, unable to settle on anything concise. All he could do was wait until something happened.

“Is that you, Logan?” the voice spoke again, coming closer.

The buzzing in his head stopped. That was his name. This person knew his name.

Friend?

Or foe . . .

A figure finally emerged, completely unrecognizable except that his shape was vaguely human. And tall, much too tall-looking from where Logan sat vulnerably on the ground.

He was half a second away from letting his self-preservation win out and throw this person with his powers, but they said carefully, “Hey, it’s me, Patton, remember?” and the world stopped.

“Patton?” Logan blurted.

The jewelry store. The reaper. The bespectacled man who rode in his car, the one with kindness in his eyes that nearly hid the cleverness underneath.

“It’s really me, kiddo,” came Patton’s reassuring reply. “Guess it’s a small world after all.”

Logan barked out a laugh, caught up in both relief and bemusement. He wanted to flop backwards in an exhausted heap, but he had to know. “My pursuers? What about them?”

“The bad guys with the guns? Oh, I gave them a time-out! Firearms are serious business, and they didn’t even have any carrying permits!”

Logan stared at him incredulously. “You took the time to rifle through their pockets to confirm that?”

Patton’s hands flew up to his mouth in a gasp. “Did you just make a pun?”

“What? No, I mean, at least not intentionally.”

“Well _shoot_ , it sure did seem like it.”

Logan really did flop on his back this time. “I just nearly died and you’re partaking in the lowest form of comedy. Unbelievable.”

Patton leaned over him. This close, Logan could discern an apologetic smile. “Sorry ‘bout that. I’m just glad I managed to cut them off in time.” He held out a hand in offer.

Logan took it and was on his feet quicker than he thought he’d be. Patton steadied him. “Your assistance is appreciated. When you say ‘cut them off’, by that you mean . . .?”

“I uh . . . kinda knocked them out? Don’t worry though! They should be okay after a while. It’s just that I heard the gunfire and came running, and when I saw them chasing someone down I knew I had to act fast.”

“Wait, so you just happened to be in the area?” Logan asked, because surely not . . .

“How else would I have known to come help?” Patton responded, eyes bright with a sincerity that Logan didn’t doubt. While Logan was beside himself processing this, Patton busied himself checking Logan over for injuries. He still had hold of his arms and turned his hands over, palms up. “Logan! Your hands, you’re hurt!”

“Just scratches,” Logan murmured absently.

For days on end, Logan had been tracking down the drug dealers, surveying where they operated, finding them to work out of a shabby motel downtown. And here Patton had just been in the right place at the right time?

Of all the odds . . .

“Patton,” Logan cut him off mid-ramble. Patton trailed off and looked at Logan questioningly, worryingly, his eyes warm in the glow of the street lamp.

“You’re not wearing your glasses,” he stated.

“Indeed. We need to get out of here. Did you happen to drive here, by chance?”

Logan had parked too close to the motel. He had intended to make a quick getaway after putting a stop to the drug dealers. Now it would be a risk to return to it in the event that the authorities had been alerted and were already there (which was highly likely, with that much gunfire giving them away). Thankfully, Patton had parked some streets down in the opposite direction.

“But what about your car?” Patton asked him as they walked at a brisk pace.

“I’ll have to come back for it at another time, when things have quieted.” Logan only hoped that it wouldn’t be broken into or stolen until then. “In the meantime, I shall find alternative transportation to get around.”

“If you think that’s best . . .” Patton conceded reluctantly.

They were traversing through a neighborhood of apartment buildings and homes now. A couple of them had lights on inside, but most were silent and the only other sign of life the two saw was a passing truck.

“So what happened back there?” Patton asked, filling in the silence. “Are you really okay, Logan?”

“Rest assured, I am not injured.” Logan winced after saying that. Now that the adrenaline was easing off, he could feel a throbbing in his head. “Mostly, at least. I had planned to confront those criminals in the motel room that they were running drug deals out of. What I did not account for was the motel manager being involved. They snuck up behind me, distracting me enough that one of them threw something at my head, knocking my glasses off. I could not locate them before I was forced to . . . before I initiated a tactical retreat.”

“You mean ran away?”

Logan scowled and coughed. “While not completely inaccurate, I believe the way I phrased it has better connotations.”

“It’s okay. People waving around guns can be scary,” Patton said, and the way he smiled reminded Logan that he was walking beside someone who probably had worse experiences than what he had faced tonight. With his cheery disposition and his deplorable love of puns, Logan had almost forgotten that Patton was a veteran.

“Quite,” Logan agreed. Curiosity lingered, imploring him to ask Patton about his service time, but he refrained. It would be intrusive.

Resisting temptation, he automatically went to straighten his tie only to drop his hands. While his current attire was more suitable for crime-fighting, he would rather be in his usual business-casual wear than a hoodie and jeans.

He cleared his throat again. “Though your assistance has been most useful tonight, I would typically have been fine managing on my own, if not for my lack of glasses.”

“Wowzers, that must be tough. I can’t even imagine not being able to see well enough to get around.”

Logan looked at him in deep confusion. “What are you talking about? We’re the same, or even if you are closer to twenty-twenty than I am, we are still in a similar state.”

Patton just stared at him with a ‘huh?’ expression, completely lost. Surely he was joking.

“Patton, you wear corrective lenses the same as I do. Therefore, it should not be all that hard to imagine yourself in my situation.”

It dawned on him slowly, the dots connecting one by one. Patton stopped walking and blinked at nothing, eyes wide. Then in a flurry of over-dramatic gestures, he laughed and talked fast. “Oh right! Completely forgot there for a sec, so used to wearing my glasses. Yep, can’t see a thing without them!”

Logan said nothing, but he couldn’t shake the distinct notion that Patton was lying. It would be an innocuous thing to lie about, so why would he? And yet, it reminded Logan of that night they first met when Patton denied being a mutant. There was something about his mannerisms, a vague thing that Logan loathed himself for not being able to pin down. He worked best with concrete evidence, but he couldn’t deny that Patton struck a familiar cord in him.

After all, when Logan wasn’t out patrolling the city at night, he pretended to be an ordinary citizen as well.

 

* * *

 

The two vigilantes made it out intact that night. To be sure that the police located the drug dealers left in the alley, Logan phoned in an anonymous tip. Patton gave him a ride home. More than that, he gave him his number.

“It’s good to have friends at your back, and we make a good team. Don’t ya think?” Patton offered with a wink and a smile.

They weren’t friends. Not really. Allies would be a closer term to what they truly were. And in this line of business, even those could be a liability.

Then again, if he learned anything that night, his own shortcomings could leave him at risk. And he’d rather not experience such a blind panic ever again.

Patton’s number found a place in his contact list. Logan told himself that this would be the alternative to contact lenses.

Weeks went by, crime in the city ensued, and Logan and Patton faced it together more often than not. As Patton had said before, they did indeed make a good team. While Logan had a knack for tactics, Patton was startlingly adept at reading people. More than once Logan had watched him disarm people by words alone.

“Do you have powers of persuasion?” Logan asked at one point.

Patton laughed as if he had told a good joke. “No, I’m just a dad.”

It frustrated Logan. Because for one, Patton had no biological children to speak of. For another, Patton’s true power continued to elude Logan, leaving nothing but inklings for him to trail clumsily after. When he had initially begun crime fighting, it had been out of a strong sense of justice and the ability to do something about it. Nowadays, Logan chased after the mystery Patton presented for him. If he paid attention, he’d notice when Patton slipped up.

When the time came, it wasn’t so much that Patton slipped up.

Logan had been grocery shopping when it happened. He perused the fresh produce, almost absently answering his phone.

“ _Logan!_ ” Patton said before he had a chance to greet him. It had only been one word, but it was hurried and frantic.

The produce immediately lost all his attention. This was more important. “What’s wrong, Patton?”

“Hartview Bridge, possible bombing, too far away to confirm yet. I’m almost there, where are you?”

A . . . terrorist attack? Patton sounded as if he were running, running straight to the potential terrorist attack. There had been a potential terrorist attack and Logan just stood there, staring at zucchini, wondering where he fit into all this.

Still processing, Logan answered mechanically, “I’m at the grocery, the Miller’s Fresh Foods on Second Street.”

“Good, that’s not too far. Hurry, Logan.”

Logan shook his head, brows furrowed. “Why? What can we do? It’s the middle of the day. Surely the proper authorities are already handling it. We would just out ourselves—”

“Oh my God,” Patton gasped, cutting him off. Logan knew that it wasn’t because of what he had been saying. Ice prickled in his stomach.

“Patton? Patton, what happened?”

“It’s collapsed, the bridge, I see it,” he responded, voice thick with emotion. “Parts are still collapsing, _they’re falling in_ —”

A rush of background noise filtered through. Then the line went dead.

Logan abandoned his shopping cart without a second thought and booked it to his car. He didn’t even put on his seat belt. He floored it through traffic. Any cops that would have pulled him over for speeding were already speeding themselves. But closer to the river where the bridge crossed, a wall of traffic halted any more progress. Logan couldn’t see much from here, but other people were getting out of their vehicles or running down the sidewalk, some away and some towards the bridge. Logan jumped out as well.

The sun was shining bright, not a cloud in the sky, mocking in its ideality. There were people everywhere, many of them pulling out their phones to record the chaos. There would be nowhere to hide here, not like he was used to during his nightly patrols.

But Patton was up there, and if he waited any longer the police would section off the entrance in a security perimeter.

Pedestrians either ducked out of his way or were pushed through. Logan didn’t have time for politeness. As he neared the bridge, he could see where vehicles had crashed into each other, some of them toppled, some on fire, creating a mess of mazes and barriers. Up towards the halfway point, the overarching steel beams had collapsed where the bridge caved in, making the structure look as if a giant hand had smashed down through the center.

Logan didn’t realize he had stopped running to take it all in. He’d never seen such chaos and destruction. Smoke filled the air and people ran past him in various states of injured. He swallowed roughly, forcing himself to stay composed.

Muffled yelling broke through to him. Nearby, a damaged car sat. The driver’s side door was bent from some form of impact (a collision with another vehicle?), and the woman behind the window beat frantically to get his attention.

Logan ran over to it, stumbling over debris. He tried the handle, but the door was too damaged.

He cursed. Now that he was here, there was no choice.

“Lean back!” he yelled to her so that she could hear him. She did as told, too scared to do otherwise.

It would be too risky to mess with the glass. Logan held his hands up, focusing on the seam of metal where it should open. A wave of blue-green energy washed over it. He balled his glowing hand into a fist and yanked with all his might, forcing the door to open, almost tearing it from its hinges. The woman screamed, covering her face with her right arm. The left one was held against her as if hurt.

“Can you walk?” Logan asked, willing away the light from his eyes so as not to scare her further. She looked at him, shakily nodding. “Good. Here—”

He helped her stand, and once she had her feet under her, she gave him a watery smile. “Thank you,” she said before fleeing as fast as she could off the bridge.

Logan picked his way through the wreckage, yelling for Patton when he could but becoming quickly distracted each time his help was needed. A group of people were trying to move rubble off an unconscious man. Logan moved it with his powers. A car exploding sent shrapnel flying. Logan sent a wave of force to push someone down before they could be decapitated, and at the same time he caught a child before they fell through the bridge’s broken railing to the river below. One of the steel arches above groaned and snapped with a horrible shudder. Logan threw up his hands, wrapping the broken beam in light. The weight of it proved to be too much, but he managed to slow its heavy descent enough and maneuver it to fall safely.

One thing after the other, Logan saved whoever he could and prevented further injury when possible. Surprisingly, the first responders neither feared nor stopped him. In fact, they grasped that he was there to help and soon were directing him to where he was needed next. At one point, a firefighter hopped onto the bed of a truck, waving his arms to get his attention.

“Over here! Mutant guy, over here!” he yelled, and Logan followed. He had been gravitating towards the middle of the bridge all this time, where a sizeable chunk had caved in and nothing but empty space lingered. For the first time, Logan got an unobscured view of it.

The road ended in an abrupt jagged edge, pieces of it still crumbling off. On the other side of the gap, there was just as much disorder and people trying to survive.

“ _LOGAN!_ ” a voice screamed, jarring him out of his shock.

He looked to his right where a city bus had plowed through the railing. The length of it was almost entirely over the edge, the back of it held up only by Patton himself. He gripped it underneath and somehow kept it from tipping over. His biceps bulged from the effort. Patton’s feet dug into the ground, leaving behind warped tracks as he was pulled forward minutely.

Patton’s glasses were cracked and a line of blood seeped down his face from a cut on his temple. His eyes were pleading. “I can’t hold it.”

However strong Patton truly was (and it was now apparent that it was supernatural), he couldn’t pull the bus up.

Surging into action, Logan held up his hands. His telekinesis, while strong enough to lift a dumpster, couldn’t lift something as heavy as a bus. Not alone, that is. With his powers and Patton’s superior strength, they managed to pull the bus backwards, inch by painful inch, until all of its wheels sat on a stable surface. The first responders dove in after that, helping people off the bus and escorting them to safety.

Both he and Patton were panting from their combined effort, hands on knees bent over as they tried to catch their breaths.

“Not a mutant, huh?” Logan gasped out.

Patton sent him a tired glare. “Lo . . . shut your ever-flapping gob smacker.”

Logan snorted, but agreed that now wasn’t really the time to have this conversation. Not with people dying and everyone starting to look to them for answers.

“Oh, would ya look at that bird,” Patton commented, and Logan stood up straight to see a helicopter hovering in the near distance. A news helicopter, filming everything including them.

He groaned. “You do realize that we’ll never be able to return to our regular lives now, don’t you?”

Patton pulled off his glasses and tossed them aside carelessly. He didn’t squint after, proving that he never truly needed them. He stood there proudly, hands on hips and back straight.

“It’s a little scary, isn’t it?” he grinned, bumping shoulders with Logan. “But I don’t regret it. How ‘bout you, partner?”

“I regret many things,” Logan deadpanned, making the other laugh.

“That’s the spirit!” Patton clapped him on the back. “Handle things on this side, okay kiddo? They look like they could use some help over there.”

“What do you . . .” Logan began in confusion before Patton performed a running leap over the broken gap, launching himself high into the air before landing safely on the other side.

Logan adjusted his tie, disgruntled.

“Incredible. He calls me ‘kiddo’ and then proceeds to yeet himself over a broken bridge. I am a grown man, you know.”

He turned away to get back to work.


End file.
